[h1]Kingdom of Arkron[/h1]
[h2]Arkronia[/h2]

	Silence fell on the banquet hall as the emperor arrived. Rising in respect the gathered nobility and their hosts rose to their feet to bow to the crown prince as he moved to the base of the towering throne. Peering up through the corner of his eyes King William could not miss the weakness in his majesty. He looked to be steered by something outside of himself. And while the player sought to hold him up and strong there was a deep frailty within him, a deep aura the emanated from his spirit that no sick man missed. At a distance William thought he could smell the acrid putrid pestilence of the decaying spirit inside of Rakon-Da.

	“He doesn't look s'good, father.” he heard Coffey whisper. It was evident. Something was terribly wrong. No wonder the situation was rushed. William briefly pondered if perhaps in some secret bed chamber the priests had rushed a marriage simply to conceive an heir if Rakon-Da were to die and cut short the legacy of his house. William looked away from the ascendant emperor to the young prince and found Coffey was far from formally bowing. There was a wavering suspicion in the room and the formal reception William sensed was mixed. Catching the princes eye Coffey sensed his father was not angry at the lack of formality and eased a little. William looked out over the banquet hall, some seemed to have foregone extending the formalities all together, the former rebel alliance having released their bows entirely. Yet just as many if not many more – particularly of the more minor and vulnerable provinces – seemed to bow even lower, as if their faith in the Emperor could entirely save him entirely from the curse.

	“This is a day of something more than just a national consecration. And I am certain that on this day my fellow Mycorian expect that on my coronation as monarch of Arkron, supreme ruler of the realm, I will address them with a candor and a decision which the present situation of our realm impels.” spoke the Emperor. And by the old Gods and the Spirit of The People of Lake Hemden his voice sounded weak William remarked to himself secretly. He projected it, but there was a dry weakness lingering at the back of the emperor ascendant's throat. In previous days, William had known the emperor to be a strong speaker and straight and quick like an arrow. But his voice seemed to waver in its stress as he fought to keep a modicum of simulation to his old voice.

	“It is preeminently the time to speak the truth, the whole truth, frankly and boldly. Nor need we shrink from honestly facing the conditions in the Kingdom of Arkron today. Our great nation will endure, as it has endured and will help the realm of Mycoria to endure.” the emperor continued on.

So first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is chaos itself. Nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror caused by disease and the ambition to take advantage of those who are struggling.” and by the god there was the confirmation. The explanation for the secret isolation of the Arkronians and the entire haste of the ceremonies. The conditions of the emperor: the rumors borne true. There indeed was a plague and it was a race to see how far they could all get before the Gods struck down the dynasty and the realm.

	As the emperor continued William remembered the Fox and he began to scan the room for him. He searched for Peatyr Bretnach, the one who did not belong. Mathias noticed his lord's unease and the King began to step from the table. Mathias cast his attention about, but all seemed to be looking up at the Emperor with their full morbid attention. Gripping William by the shoulder Mathias steadied him, and a cold shot went down the king's spine. Leaning in the knight whispered: “M'lord you act up. Pray, what is t'matter.”

	“A fox is in th'chicken coup.” the king answered him under his breath, “I answer your prayer, a trickery is under foot. I can feel it in m'veins. You have your sword?”

	“Ay, that I do m'lord. But for what reason you need t'know” he said, his voice held as low as the gentle rush of autumn winds.

	“If something goes t'shit, I may have t'fight out with a candlestick or a table knife. Let us hope th' plead for reconciliation unites this realm then t'kill the assassin where ever he might be.”

	“Who, then?”

	“A damn fox. Why else would t'sneak try for m' ear!”